Far From the Tree
by meixel
Summary: A tragic kidnapping sends the detectives back in time when a similar case hit close to home. A prequel set in 1971, Mike must deal with Steve's ne'er-do-well father. (AU)
1. Prologue

I don't own SOSF or the characters. They are the property of CBS/Paramount. No copywrite infringement is intended. All writing is done for entertainment and skill development.

* * *

**Far From the Tree**

Prologue

_Fisherman's Wharf, Summer, 1973_

* * *

They had worked against time and lost. Max Hillman, a very wealthy businessman, flaunted his fortune one too many times. His son, Max Jr., was kidnapped by a pair of disgruntled former employees and held for ransom. If the ransom went unpaid by the designated time, the young man would simply die.

When the kidnapping occurred, Hillman was instructed not to involve the police. He was at first compliant and remained quiet. Upon receipt of the ransom payment, the kidnappers contacted him with demands for more money and refused to release the son. With this turn of events, he knew he had no choice but to call on the authorities. Still, the time lost without police intervention proved to be insurmountable.

The deadline was forty eight hours, but Lieutenant Mike Stone and Inspector Steve Keller were involved only for the last ten. They pieced together the crime clues and then finally figured that Max Jr. had been held in a container in a warehouse along the Wharf. Unfortunately, the crate had a limited air supply, and when the detectives finally reached the young man, it was simply an hour too late. After the discovery of Max Jr.'s body, the detectives could do nothing more than secure the crime scene for the investigators and lab team.

Seeing the crate in the musty warehouse and imagining what the teenager had gone through, a feeling of anxiety washed over the young inspector. Breaking out in a sweat, he worked quickly to finish securing the scene. Once finished, he felt the need for fresh air and found the side door out of the warehouse and onto an adjacent dock. Standing at the edge of the wooden structure, he found a quiet respite from the crime scene. The brisk air from the Bay was comforting and reminded him that like the wind, life never stopped.

Mike had a final conversation with the medical examiner as they prepared to take Max Jr. to the city morgue. His next task would be visiting the young man's father. He knew he had to do it before news of Max Jr.'s fate reached the press and wanted to deliver the news face to face. He felt like that was the only humane thing to do.

He glanced around the warehouse to find his partner and then eventually thought to walk outside. Looking over by the water's edge, he found Steve down by the pier near where a tall sailboat was docked.

"You okay?" Mike asked as he joined the young man.

"Yeah," Steve replied quietly as he stared down into the water.

Mike continued to look at his partner, knowing that Keller was likely lost in thought, reflecting on a sadly similar situation two years before. Certainly, the memory had come screaming back to Mike during the Hillman investigation and there was no doubt, that his young partner was thinking the same. It would be a case they would never forget, but also one they would never discuss. It happened on the day Mike thought he'd never see his young partner again.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Tijuana, Mexico

May, 1971 – More than two years earlier

* * *

Sixty year old Clark Smith was running a numbers game south of the border just to make ends meet. He would find American tourists visiting popular spots in Tijuana and offer them a shell game with good odds. He would routinely take a loss early on only to come back and skillfully turn the tables back in his favor. Smith's pleasant demeanor coupled with a contagious energy could catch a tourist off guard. Before they realized it, they had not only given their winnings back, but by the end of the transaction, usually had a substantially less spending money in their pocket.

Late of Las Vegas, Smith fled to Mexico after he welched on a tab from one of the lesser known private casinos, Little Monaco. The older man was now underground in a foreign country, but knew he had to remain that way until the pressure from the casino bosses died down. While he had a good run in Vegas, he left with a five figure loss that was compounding interest on a daily basis.

* * *

**Las Vegas, Nevada **

When the debt was nearing $50,000, the casino boss, Mr. Bennett, called in one of his hired 'researchers' whose business it was to find out all he could about the casino's frequent gamblers. The 300 pound, six foot five inch researcher, named Petit Jones, came back with a thick file.

"Clark Smith, aka Clarence Stratton, aka Charlie Stakowski, has been around," Jones said as he reviewed the file. "He's a widower who's been drifting for years after his wife and daughter died in a car accident more than twenty years ago. He's originally from central California. He worked in a couple of law firms as a tax accountant. One was in Modesto; the other was in Sacramento. Go figure."

Mr. Bennett wanted to know more. "He was a solid customer over the past few months, but then it seemed like he hit the skids and became reckless. On top of that, he wrangled a deeply overinflated credit line. We can't have that. How can we get to him?"

"He's been seen in Tijuana recently, boss. We can go down and beat the money out of him," Jones cracked his knuckles as he made the suggestion.

"Mr. Smith is the kind of man who doesn't care about his own wellbeing. I've watched him in action. Does he have anyone else that we can lean on?"

"He's got a son in San Francisco. They haven't spoken in years. The kid doesn't even go by his dad's last name; he uses his mother's. Nevertheless, Smith has been known to brag about him. The dealers had supplied me with his name and we found his address."

"Good. Do you think you might be able to get to the son? Then we'll deliver a message to Mr. Smith that unless he pays off his debt, he can bid his boy good-bye."

"Got it, boss. I'll take a couple of boys up to Frisco while Ralphie makes a run for the border to have a discussion with Mr. Smith."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll bet if he puts his mind to it, he'll figure out how to get my fifty grand back".

* * *

**Tijuana, Mexico**

Wednesday, 2am

Clark Smith awoke to the sound of creaky footsteps near the door of his hotel room. The hotel itself was seedy and decrepit. In the two weeks he'd stayed there, he became used all sorts of strange noises throughout the night. But this time it appeared that someone was lingering outside his door. Peering over to the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was just after two in the morning.

_What the hell? _he grumbled to himself. He tried to rollover and get more sleep, but became unnerved and restless.

A minute later, he heard a knock. He hoped the rapping was on someone else's door and decided to lay still. With the second knock, he knew that this was no accident or mistake. The men from Little Monaco had found him.

Grabbing his shoes, he ran to the window hoping to find a way to vacate the room. The problem was there was no fire escape and his was three floors up. Scrambling, he checked to see if there as a connecting room somewhere.

It was then that Ralphie, a big bruiser of a henchman from Little Monaco, kicked the door in. Clark attempted to run out the door past his guests, but one of Ralphie's men grabbed him and quickly threw him on the bed. The other assistant to Ralphie quietly shut the door.

"Hey fellows, there's been some kind of mistake," Smith began as he sat up.

"The mistake is yours, Smith. You owe the casino fifty grand. If you can produce that money right now, we'll take it and you won't see us again. Other than that, we're here to lean on you."

"I don't have that kind of cash, but I promise I'll get it. I'm working on getting a gig down here and I'll pay you back, I swear," Smith pleaded; his voice filled with desperation.

"Oh, I see. What kind of gig?" Ralphie decided to play along.

"I got a good place for three card monte. I've been pulling in some dough there. I'm also making some other connections and trying to get into some poker games."

"Interesting. Poker: that's what did you in back in Vegas. A little hair of the dog then. Well, I hope you are able to get that cash in three days, because if not, someone close to you is going to die."

"What? Who do you mean? I don't have any family."

"We know you do. We know you have a son in San Francisco. Got his name and address."

Clark shook his head and tried, but failed, to hide his fear. "No, I don't know nobody up there."

"You're lying. You're lying about getting the money and you're lying about your son. We know where he is. I've got three guys staked outside his apartment now," Ralphie said with a smile.

Clark Smith sat on the edge of his bed and knew he was trapped. Ralphie continued. "Tell you what the boys in Frisco are going to do. In about five minutes, they are going to bust in and grab your kid. They'll take him someplace and wait for our instructions. You have all day Wednesday and all day Thursday. If the fifty grand is not delivered to where we say by Friday noon, they've been ordered to kill your boy. Pure and simple. And to give the fellows something to do, we'll have them break one of your son's bones a day. That way, you'll know your boy is in pain the entire time."

"Please, isn't there something we can work out? I'll go back with you to Vegas. I'll do anything you need at the casino," Smith pleaded.

Ralphie walked over and picked Smith up by the collar. "We don't work that way. If we did, we'd have a casino filled with unskilled welchers like yourself. Nope, we're leaving now, but we'll be watching you and be in touch with our demands."

Ralphie let go of Smith's shirt as the older man fell to the ground. The men departed, leaving Smith in stunned silence. He quickly realized that he needed to contact his son. They had not spoken in years, but the older man had kept his son's phone number after he obtained it through a mutual relative. His intention was always to have a role in his son's life, but he never could quite make the call. Until now.

Clark dialed the numbers as quickly as he could. He was impatient as the line rang. "C'mon, Steve. Answer the phone."

* * *

**San Francisco**

2:05 am

Steve Keller, the twenty six year old Assistant Inspector in the Bureau of Inspectors division of the San Francisco Police Department, was sound asleep in his bed. His day had been a long one, and the young man was in a deep slumber after getting to bed only two hours earlier.

Thinking it was part of a dream, Steve did not react to the phone ringing. Slowly, however, he realized that real life beckoned. He groaned as he thought of who'd be calling at that hour.

"Mike, don't you ever sleep?" he asked in a groggy voice.

"Son, it's me." Smith responded.

"Huh? Who is this?" Steve said as he stifled a yawn.

"It's your dad. Steve, wake up. Listen to me. You are in deep trouble, kiddo. There are some men who are going to try to hold you for ransom while I raise funds to cover a debt I have."

"Dad? What?" Steve shrieked. "I haven't talked to you in five years and this is the first thing you say to me?"

"Steve, listen to me. Leave your apartment. Go out the back if you can. Anything, just get away from there."

Steve couldn't believe his ears, but his father's words began to sink in. Just as he was about to respond, the bedroom door burst open.

"Steve, they are going to…" Smith shouted through the phone.

"They're here," Steve yelled. He rolled over to his night stand to retrieve his gun, but was quickly overpowered by the three men. "Call my work!" he yelled, hoping his father would hear.

Clark winced as he heard the struggle of his son who was some five hundred miles away.

Petit Jones opened the drawer that Steve failed to reach. "You carry a piece, huh? Well, not tonight," The goon rammed his fist into Steve's face. Steve was shocked and felt blood trickling through his nose. Jones quickly had Steve pinned to the bed.

"Get the rag," Petit ordered. Pete Marfisi had a rag in one hand and a can of chloroform in the other. He quickly saturated the rag and smothered Steve's face with the material. With a bleeding nose, Steve struggled to breathe. As the rag fell over his face, he had no choice but to gulp the air through his mouth. He fought back momentarily, but then lost consciousness in seconds.

"Hand me the syringe," Petit ordered. He jabbed the needle in Steve's motionless arm and began to draw blood. After dumping the contents of a nearby ashtray filled with sunflower shells onto the floor, Petit transferred the blood from the syringe into the container. Marfisi watched as the receptacle was half filled and then took a cloth, dampened the corner with Steve's blood and painted the words on the wall: Pay up or he dies!

Continuing to work with the syringe, Marfisi and Petit drew and extruded more blood onto Steve's sheets, which gave the image of splattering. They also poured the remaining contents of the bowl onto the bed, leaving behind a bloody mess. A little bit of blood certainly went a long way.

As they grabbed Steve, bleeding from the nose and arm and clad only in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, they threw a blue blanket over the young man.

Petit Jones picked up the handset which was still active and said, "We're watching you, Smith. We'll be in contact." He slammed the phone down on a bewildered and frightened Smith.

Phase one of Mr. Bennett's plan to retrieve his funds was in place.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

**San Francisco**

Mike knocked on the second floor door of the familiar grey apartment building on Union Street. While his partner was loyal, intelligent and tough, Steve was also known to be late to work occasionally, especially if he had put in a double shift the day before. Mike figured this morning was no different and considering the time they both put in yesterday, didn't mind if the young man was a little late.

_A little late, _Mike thought, _but three hours is enough. If he's left the phone in the fridge again so he can run his own night shift without interruptions, I'll clobber him. _ He smirked at the idea he could not keep up with the parade of girls that Steve talked about. It seemed like one week it was Ellen, the next it was Marie and so on.

But a sense of dread washed over him as he looked back onto the street to see Steve's Porsche parked as the lone vehicle in front of the building. With no answer, Mike jiggled the door knob to see if it was locked. Much to his surprise, it was not. The knob rotated and he was able to open the door and walk right in.

"Steve? You in here, Buddy boy?" Mike looked around the apartment when another sudden pang of nerves struck. Out of habit, he rested his hand on his gun.

He decided to give the apartment a thorough search. _Dishes in the sink and his coat is laying over a chair,_ Mike observed. Walking back to the hall, he spoke out one more time, "Steve?"

The door to the bedroom was partially shut. He pushed it open as his heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

He first saw the writing on the wall: "Pay up or he dies!". It was just above the headboard of Steve's bed. Mike swallowed hard when he realized what was used to write the message. He looked down on the bed and saw blood all over the sheets.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Steve? Who did this to you?_ Mike gathered his thoughts and then proceeded to make a call to his boss, Captain Rudy Olsen. He began to reach for the phone but stopped short as he realized that anything and everything in Steve's apartment could hold a clue to what happened.

Mike looked around the apartment one more time to see if anything else seemed out of place, but then decided to go make the call from his car. As he exited the apartment, he saw a man in the doorway who looked very familiar to him. He was the spitting image of Steve, only thirty years older.

* * *

Clark Smith walked up the stairs to his son's apartment and saw the door wide open. He wasn't sure what to make of it and proceeded with caution as he walked in.

"Steve?" Clark asked, hoping against hope that all was normal, but then caught sight of a taller older man in a dark coat and fedora.

Mike Stone stared at Clark Smith. "You've got to be a relative of Steve's," Mike stated as he marveled at the resemblance.

"I'm his father. Who are you?"

"I'm Lieutenant Mike Stone. Steve works for me," Mike offer to shake his hand was subdued. The whole situation seemed very surreal.

"I'm Clark Smith," he said as he extended his hand in response.

Taking in the idea that it was awfully coincidental for this man to appear when his partner was obviously in danger, Mike decided to play it straight and disclose the situation. "Mr. Smith, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Something's happened to Steve, hasn't it?"

"Your son is missing. It appears he's been kidnapped. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?" Mike signaled for Smith to walk back to Steve's bedroom.

"I called him last night. While we were talking, someone broke into his apartment. I heard the struggle and then the line went dead. I tried calling back, but no answer. The only thing I could do was drive up here."

"Where were you driving from, Mr. Smith?"

"Tijuana. I recently moved there," Smith began to explain further until he saw the bloody bedroom. "Oh, kiddo. I'm sorry," he said under his breath.

Mike's eyebrows arched, "Pardon me?"

Before Smith could answer, the phone on the nightstand by Steve's bed rang. Mike raised his finger to his lips to instruct silence while he answered the phone, being careful not to smudge any prints from the handset.

"Hello," Mike answered.

"Smith, you're nothing if not predictable, you know that?" Petit Jones inquired.

"Who is this and what do you want?" Mike played along.

"Oh, I think you know who I am. And if you want to see your son alive again, you'll produce the money by Friday noon or he dies. Didn't you see the writing on the wall?"

"I did," the anger in Mike's voice was unmistakable.

"Good. We're watching every move you make. I'll be in touch." Jones hung up the phone abruptly.

Mike placed the handset back on the phone and took a deep breath. He turned to Smith who was standing beside him eager to hear what was said.

But anger had the better of Mike as grabbed Steve's father by the arm and led him to the closest chair. He shoved Smith down as he demanded, "Smith, I suggest you tell me what is going on here."

Smith stared back at Stone knowing that he needed to come clean with his situation. Still he said nothing.

"Father or no father. If you don't say something, I'm going to beat it out of you."

"All right…" Smith began as he explained the story of how he came to owe the Little Monaco casino fifty thousand dollars.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Noon, Wednesday**

The first thing Steve remembered was feeling the cold. His apartment was never this chilly. His eyes were sealed shut from exhaustion, chloroform and a punch square in the face. He managed to pry his right eye open and saw nothing but a light tan vinyl that seemed to filter the sun.

Rolling over and wrapping himself as tightly as he could in the blue blanket, Steve finally opened both eyes as it slowly occurred to him that he wasn't home. He was in a small tan pup tent; still dressed only in his pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. His feet were bare, and he felt the chill all the way to his bones. His face ached. As he lifted his hand to feel the soreness, he touched the swelling and dried blood around his nose.

With little memory of the night before, Steve sought to remember just how he ended up where he was. He was asleep and the phone rang. _Dad,_ he thought to himself. _Something about a debt he owed and me being taken for ransom. Damn._

At the memory, Steve's stomach did a flip, but he knew that the only way to freedom would be if he kept his wits about him. With the tent zipped shut, he crawled to the front and gently stuck is finger at the top where the zipper tag was and pressed down only about a half inch. He was then able to look out the small hole to what was directly in front of him.

Much to his surprise, he was at a campsite. To the left, he saw a dark, late model sedan parked in the grass. In front were several trees and then to the right, he saw two men, sitting at a campfire and drinking coffee. For the moment, he was not ready to let his captors know he was awake.

* * *

Clark Smith had left his son's apartment and walked to the car he drove from Tijuana. He figured whoever owned the car had now filed a stolen vehicle report with the local Mexican policia. _Add that to my list of problems,_ the older man surmised.

Having pocketed his son's car keys while inside the apartment, Smith contemplated ditching his stolen, hotwired car in exchange for his son's more appealing ride. But while Mike was on his way back to the station, Smith knew he was still being watched by representatives from the casino. He gave Steve's sports car a long look before he drove away in the car he brought.

The Porsche had always been a sore point with him. While he didn't see Steve often, after the young man learned to drive, Smith returned to Modesto with an older model Nash Ambassador. Smith had anticipated pleasing his son with the gift, but for reasons he never understood, Steve was cool to the car. A few years later, when Smith came back to visit, the Nash was gone and replaced by the newer Porsche.

Shaking himself back to reality, Smith focused on the arrangements he made with Mike to stay at a particular hotel down in The Castro area. Knowing that he was being watched, he checked in and was given a room with a view and a phone. His only job was to sit by the phone and wait.

Norm Haseejian was sent to the hotel after the fact and placed a tap on the room's phone. He took up residence in a connected room to keep track of Smith and his calls. The tracing equipment allowed for another phone in the room and would be invaluable once Smith got the call.

* * *

Mike Stone knew that no one could be seen with Clark Smith. As Steve's father was being watched, he too would need to keep his distance. He reported back to Rudy all that had occurred, and the two men discussed strategy around rescuing Steve. Since this was one of their own, Rudy contacted his superiors as well as the mayor for their input.

Mike's next job was to connect with the police in Las Vegas and report what happened. He inquired about Little Monaco. While the information the police provided to the detective was sketchy, the Vegas police offered to investigate further and take Mike or one of his men to the casino, if needed. Mike decided to accept their offer and sent Dan Healy.

Mike also sent an investigator to Steve's apartment without the fanfare of a marked vehicle in order to take prints and find any physical evidence that would help with the rescue of his partner.

After all that was done, Stone reflected on the story that Smith had shared. Just two weeks ago, Steve's father was playing poker with a couple of ringers at Little Monaco. They lost a couple of hands and Smith's confidence grew. After his rivals flashed some cash, Smith felt like he was home free and increased his wager. Smith had raked in fifty thousand dollars, but then was challenged to bet double or nothing. With a credit line established with false documents, he recklessly went for it and lost.

In hindsight, he said it was the oldest scam in the book. His poker rivals must have been observing Smith and how he behaved at the tables for days. He played right into their hands.

It wasn't the first time Smith had gambled away substantial money. As Clarence Stratton, he had lost thousands at other venues and was eventually forced to change his name.

Mike shook his head at the thought. Steve had never talked much about his parents. The senior detective knew that he grew up with his grandparents after his mother died, but Steve had simply never mentioned his father before.

While he didn't want to pry in the young man's personal life, now was the time that any privacy concerns would be set aside. He knew Steve was born in Modesto and from there, he contacted the Vital Records department to secure his birth certificate. Obtaining Clark Smith's real name from what was listed on the certificate could be helpful to Mike as he sought to find out more about Smith's life and contacts.

An hour later, Mike had the certificate in his hands. "Charlie Stakowski," Mike announced to Bill Tanner. "Bill, I want you to run everything you can on Stakowski: from birth to the present. I want to know his acquaintances and who might know more about the kind of trouble he got into in Vegas."

"On it, Mike," Bill replied.

* * *

The phone rang and both Smith and Haseejian jumped. "Keep him on as long as you can," Norm whispered as he turned on the tracing device.

"Hello," Smith answered.

Petit Jones responded, "Okay, you found yourself a hotel. No cops, Smith. I'm warning you. Just you and me. If you play your cards right, you'll have your son back by Friday afternoon."

"What do you want me to do?" Smith asked slowly.

"I want you to get the fifty thousand dollars you owe the casino. It should be in cash – twenties, fifties and hundreds. Bundle it up and put it in a travel case. I'll call you back by noon tomorrow with instructions for the drop. You have the cash there by noon on Friday or your son dies."

"Can I get a hold of you?"

"Are you crazy? No way. You get the cash together and then you sit tight for our instructions. We'll be watching you, Smith."

Norm scribbled a note to Smith for him to read to the kidnapper. "Can I speak with my son? I want to know he's okay," Smith read.

"He's not here. A couple of the boys have him. Don't worry, they're taking real good care of him. He'll get something to eat and then at some point, like I promised, they'll take him and break a bone. Could be his arm, his leg, his jaw, I don't know. I'm sure they can be creative."

Haseejian suppressed a groan. _These guys mean business._ He wondered quietly if they would let Steve go even if they got the ransom money.

"There's no need for that. He hasn't done anything. You'll get your money, just don't hurt him."

"Just get the money. If you don't have it by Friday noon, he's dead." Smith heard nothing more but a click.

Haseejian turned off the tracing equipment and then called in to the operator to see if they were able to track the call. Within minutes he got the location of a phone booth only three blocks away. "Did you recognize this man's voice?" Haseejian asked.

"No, I don't know who it is. I couldn't begin to tell you. Bennett has a number of henchmen."

"Who's Bennett?" Haseejian inquired as he called in to get unmarked units over to the payphone where Jones had placed the call.

"He's the man who runs the casino."

* * *

Marfisi looked at his watch and the looked over to the tan tent. "I guess it's time to wake our guest," he mused to his partner, Jack Bain.

"What are you going to do?" Bain asked.

"For now, I'll let him eat and take a leak."

Marfisi walked over to the tent and unzipped the front. Inside he found Steve curled up with the blanket pretending to be asleep. "Hey, you. Time to get up."

Steve groaned and then felt Marfisi grab him with both arms as he tried to drag the young detective out of the tent. "Let's get this over with," he added. "Go over there and get something to eat. And if you have to go, do it by the tree over there."

The cold compounded by the length of time since he last went to bed meant that his bladder was about to burst. He walked over to the tree and quickly did as needed.

"Can I have some water?" Steve asked. They handed him a cup and he quickly washed his hands.

Bain shoved a plate his way with a lunchmeat sandwich and another cup of water. Still feeling a little weak, Steve sat on the grass and had his lunch.


	5. Chapter 4

a/n: Thanks to all who have favorited or followed! I really appreciate that!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Somewhere in rural California

* * *

"Your old man's a piece of work, you know that?" Marfisi broke the silence as he watched his hostage gingerly chew his sandwich.

_Show no fear, _Steve thought to managed a slight smirk, "Yeah, a real prize." Sounding more resigned than he would have preferred, Steve added, "How long do I have?"

Marfisi was surprised at his captive's calm. "You got til noon on Friday. Your old man has to come through or else. Simple as that."

"What did the old man do, anyway?" Steve asked. "If I'm going to get kidnapped, roughed up and killed, I'd like to at least know so I could come back and haunt the bastard."

"He owes the house fifty grand," Marfisi answered matter-of-factly.

"Terrific," Steve muttered. "What was the game?"

"Poker."

Steve nodded. _There was always a con_, he thought as he remembered back to his childhood. _The man never earned an honest dollar._

Marfisi broke the silence again, "I'm betting you don't have that kind of money or know anybody that does?"

"Nah. It'd take a dozen people and quite a bit of time to pool that kind of money together." His appetite lost, Steve tossed the remainder of his sandwich in the campfire.

* * *

Mike was pacing in Rudy's office, waiting for the phone to ring. "We've got to have a back-up plan, Rudy. If this goes down wrong and something happens to Steve, I'll never forgive myself."

"It seems to me that you are doing everything you can, Mike. Does his dad have any money at all?"

"No, the guy's a real winner. He doesn't appear to have a responsible bone in his body. I guess I should be happy that he at least tried to warn Steve. But 'warning' doesn't get us any closer to getting Steve released."

"What about other family? Surely there's someone else."

"I left a message for his grandfather, but haven't heard back yet. If memory serves, Steve said his grandfather's been travelling abroad. I'm not sure how to get ahold of him. I may send one of the boys to Modesto to see what they can find out," Mike responded.

"We should be hearing back from the Chief soon. He's supposed to be securing city funds from the Mayor. It will help in the short term, but they're going to want someone to guarantee the cash."

"I've been working on that," Mike started. "Haseejian, Tanner and Healy each pledged two grand. I've got another ten in savings myself."

"We've been granted ten thousand from the budget," Rudy added. "And I'll chip in five. So that leaves us needing, what, nineteen grand? We're more than half way there."

Mike sat for a moment. "I've got that in equity in the house – maybe even more. When Helen died, I paid down the mortgage with the proceeds of her insurance policy."

"Mike," Rudy began as he thought about the sacrifice his subordinate was willing to make. Normally a ransom situation occurred when the victim or their family had the funds. That was clearly not the case here. And while there would be no intent of negotiating with the kidnappers, Rudy knew that the ability to produce the funds would play a key part in how the situation unfolded.

Mike read Rudy's thoughts, "I don't like it either, but if his dad can't show that he has the money, we may lose contact. I'm not handing off a stack of play money if Steve's life is at stake. What do you think about these casino guys anyway?"

"They're goons and they are usually ruthless, but once they get what they want, they leave. Say, have you told Jeannie yet?"

"Jeannie? Oh, no. She's finishing up her finals and not due home for another week. If I told her, she couldn't concentrate on her exams. That wouldn't do her or Steve any good."

Mike looked at his watch and realized that he needed to slip into Smith's hotel before noon. He explained to Rudy that he anticipated another call and wanted to monitor the call in person. The Captain waved his hand. "Get over there then and stay in touch."

* * *

Mike entered Haseejian's room. "Any news?"

"Nothing. Smith is in there playing solitaire and waiting for a call. I gotta tell you something, Mike. I don't trust that guy one bit. Steve's a good kid, and I can't even connect how those two are father and son."

"I guess he got his looks from his dad, but the things that count came from his mother's side. Speaking of, I'm still waiting to hear back from his grandfather although he may be out of the country."

"Yeah, and we're waiting to hear now on where to make the drop. Do you have a line on the ransom?" Haseejian inquired.

"Rudy's working on it," Mike began as he heard the phone ring in the adjoining room. He followed the sound to the next room and saw Clark Smith move over to pick up the receiver. Smith hesitated as he glanced over to Stone.

Mike lifted a finger to his lips as he instead picked up the line. "Hello," he answered in a low tone, similar to Smith.

"Smith, got the money?" This time it was Marfisi's voice on the line.

"I'll have it shortly," Mike answered.

"Good. Here's what we want you to do. At the back of the old abandoned warehouse on Fifth and Prescott, there's a line of barrels. Drop the money in the third barrel and then leave. No cops or your kid gets it on the spot."

Mike swallowed hard as Marfisi made the threat. "I want to talk to him."

"Thought you might." Standing next to in the phone booth of an empty gas station, Steve looked inconspicuous as he wore a spare jacket and shoes. At the order of Petit Jones, Marfisi and Bain had taken him away from the camp several miles away for the call, knowing that they'd be ask to provide proof of his wellbeing.

Marfisi put the phone up to Steve's ear. "Say something to your old man." Steve gritted his teeth and refused to speak.

"I said, say something to your old man." Marfisi repeated as he jabbed a hidden gun into Steve's side.

Anger and frustration, many years in the making, welled inside of the young man. There would be no pleading for help or exchange of sentimental thoughts today. "You bastard," Steve began. "If I make it out of here…"

"Easy, Buddy boy," Mike started. "Take a deep breath."

"I don't need to answer to…" Steve snapped defiantly and then realized to whom he was speaking. The sense of relief nearly overtook the young man.

"Are you okay?" Mike asked further.

Steve hesitated a second, "Yeah, I'm…"

Marfisi yanked the receiver away from Steve and slung it down. He quickly grabbed Steve's forearm and placed it alongside the metal doorframe of the phone booth. Bain swung an aluminum baseball bat and smashed Steve's left wrist. The young man cried out in pain.

"Steve!" Mike shouted into the phone.

"Your son's arm just met up with the business end of a baseball bat. If we don't have the money by noon tomorrow, the same thing will happen to his skull ten times over," Marfisi shouted back as he hung up the phone.

Mike kept the phone to his ear hoping against hope that the line was still connected. He never felt more helpless in his life. Haseejian broke the senior detective's train of thought. "Well, we got a little something, but not much, Mike. We don't have a number, but apparently they were calling out of the city. It's long distance."

Mike looked over to Smith. It took every thread of inner strength he had to not take Smith down. "What happened? You talked to Steve?" Clark asked.

"Yes, I talked to him," Mike's response was terse. "Right before they broke his arm."


	6. Chapter 5

Grasping Steve's uninjured right arm in one hand and an aluminum bat in the other, Bain led the stunned detective back to the small black Datsun sedan. They would soon be on their way back to the camp.

Marfisi looked over to his prisoner as he was forced in the back seat. "Nothing personal, kid. It's your old man who's done this."

Steve didn't respond, but cradled his left wrist which was numb and quickly swelling. He looked out the window, up and down both sides of the street. No one was in sight. The old country road with a shuttered gas station had only an operable payphone, ostensibly there to help the stranded traveler.

* * *

Mike's face had broken out in a cold sweat. He pulled a handkerchief to blot his forehead and neck. His mind was replaying what he had just heard: a scuffle, a slamming sound and piercing anguish followed footfalls away from the receiver before Marfisi ended the call.

"Are you okay, Mike?" Detective Norm Haseejian asked.

"Yeah," he said faintly followed by a stronger and dismissive reply. "Yeah, I'm fine. You said that the call came from out of the city? Do you know where?"

"Only that it's from within the state," Norm responded knowing that his answer was not satisfactory.

"All right, let's put out an APB on Steve. He's the only one we have an ID on. I want every cop in the state looking for him," he said with determination. "Now, I went someone posted at the warehouse at Fifth and Prescott…"

Smith interrupted. "You heard what he said, 'No cops'. What if they see your guys there?"

Mike glared at his partner's father. "Our men know how to blend into the background."

After a few more seconds of Mike's intense focus, Smith spoke. "Look, I'm sorry he's in this mess. I know it's because of me." Smith paced across the room. "I was never father of the year. A guy like me shouldn't have kids. I'm a - what do the kids say today? - I'm a free spirit. After Steve was born, I decided to hit the road. Nothing against the kid, but it was all too much and so I left."

Stone remained quiet, but Haseejian couldn't resist. "You left your wife and kids high and dry? Didn't you feel an obligation?"

Smith let out a quick chuckle. "No, I didn't feel an obligation. I felt duped. His mother trapped me. As I got shipped off to South Pacific, I learned she was pregnant. I ended up marrying her by proxy on the ship. Her father stood in for me. So when I got back, there was this ready made family."

Smith gauged his audience and realized that he needed to say more. "I did try, you know. I came back and thought maybe I could change. Their mother tried every trick in the book to make it work, including having another kid. But that's all it was – just a bunch of tricks. She did everything she could to keep me, God bless her, but I just felt trapped. Then one day, about three years later, we split for good. After we had our last fight, she took my car and the kids and then just shot out of the driveway like a bat out of hell. Next thing I knew, the cops are banging on my door. She ran a red light, and she and the girl were killed. Steve was in the back seat of the car and other than being banged up a bit, he was unharmed."

Mike shifted his stance as Smith described the accident. "And suddenly, there I was: a widower with a three year old. This ain't 'The Courtship of Eddie's Father', you know. I'm no good for a damned three year old, so I sent him to live with his mother's parents. And they did a good job, a real good job, of raising him."

Haseejian commented, "You lost your daughter."

Smith softened. "She was a cutie. She looked like her mom," he said almost dreamily before turning defensive. "But there was nothing I could do then to bring her back and there's nothing I can do now."

Mike started, "Steve…"

"Steve hates me. He has nothing to do with me and quite frankly, that's fine. I tried to stay in touch, but it's like talking to a bucket of ice. I'm sure he blames me for his mom's accident. And being raised by her parents, they probably didn't give him any reason to think otherwise. I sent him away for his own good, but they turned him against me."

"You know what I think, Smith?" Mike asked rhetorically. "At some point, you have to be man enough to own your situation. I'm sure she didn't get pregnant by herself. So, I don't think Steve needed to hear anything about you from anyone. Your actions through the years were all he needed to see."

"Easy for you to judge. You're a cop, just like he is. That's all you do: you sit on your fat ass and wait for some poor schlep to make a mistake. Then you come in like the damned cavalry and throw the book at the guy. And all on the taxpayers' dime, I might add."

"Smith, I am trying to save your son right now. I would think that might matter here," Mike stepped forward carefully with his fists tightened.

"You don't stand a chance. The minute they took him, it was all over. There's nothing you can do to stop it."

Mike grabbed Smith by the lapels and threw the man back into the wall. "You listen to me. We are going to find him and we are going to bring him back alive. I won't accept any other outcome."

Haseejian's eyes widened at the altercation. _Whatever happens, I didn't see nothin'__,_ Norm thought as he silently cheered for Mike.

"And I'll tell you what, Mr. Stokowski," Mike added with emphasis on Smith's real name, "if Steve doesn't come back alive, I will take you apart piece by piece. You'll be praying that the goons from Little Monaco find you and take you back."

* * *

The night was cold and the vinyl of the tint did nothing to provide warmth. Steve's arm ached beyond belief, but it was the last thing on his mind. He knew that Bain and Marfisi would kill him without blinking. They were there to do a job and no matter what, they would see the job to the end.

_I'm not going to wait around and get my skull bashed in. _ He thought about Mike and because of the phone call, knew for certain that his partner was doing everything he could to save him. Steve also knew that even if the ransom was paid, chances were he'd be killed or left to die in the wilderness. His only chance was to escape.

The young detective carefully protected his injured wrist as he knelt at the front of the tent. He stuck his finger by the zipper and lowered it slightly to see what he could see. In front of him was the black sedan. To the right were Marfisi and Bain around a roaring campfire having a couple of beers. It had to be a waiting game. One would take the night watch, while the other slept. But chances were both would finally dose off, especially after a beer or two.

This could be his chance. He would just have to wait it out.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 7**

* * *

It was after two in the morning and the campfire embers cast only a slight glow. Marfisi had fallen asleep around midnight. Bain was tasked with keeping watch, but the alleged guard had dozed off only a couple hours later.

Steve stayed awake plotting his escape, trying to anticipate any move or possibility that could occur. Thinking of the black sedan only several yards away, he wondered if it was unlocked or had the keys in the ignition. Assuming worst case, if he could take the car, he would have to break in and somehow jumpstart it.

The police academy taught prospective police officers about certain criminal acts, and the class on auto theft was always very popular. Steve remembered the three primary ways to start a car without keys. Mentally, he walked through the steps. The first way was to get under the hood and connect the red coil wire to the battery and then cross the terminal posts on the solenoid. With a broken wrist, little light and no time, that was too tall of an order.

Another method was to jumpstart the car by pulling out the wires behind the ignition, finding the right pair of wires, stripping them and touching them together until they ignite. _Still a bit much_, he thought, _but something to keep in mind. _

The easiest way, he thought, would be to jam something like a flathead screwdriver into the ignition and try to turn the engine over. In addition to a screwdriver, he would also need something to force the tool into the keyhole.

Steve sat back and thought where he could get the materials. He knew that the tent used lightweight metal piping to hold its shape. He attempted to tear the material of the tent in order to access the small rods. That effort failed.

Then it hit him: a tent is normally anchored by metal stakes. He felt around through the vinyl material at the back corner of the tent. He finally touched on one of the tent cords which was likely attached to a stake. Tugging on the unseen taut cord, he pulled until the line became slack and the stake was loose. He dragged the stake closer to the tent and then was able to feel through the material until he found its pointed edge. It took no time for him to work the stake through the vinyl material and pierce the back of the tent.

He examined his prize and was happy to find that the stake was about the size of a small flathead screwdriver. The implement would do for what he was attempting.

The next thing he wanted to do was find something he could use to jimmy the car lock. Thinking back to the metal piping that upheld the tent, he used his newly discovered spike to tear into back of the tent. He was able to break off some of the piping. While the back of the tent caved in, the front was still standing giving the appearance that the small structure was in one piece.

The young detective quietly pulled the zipper down on the tent and stuck his head out, waiting for either Bain or Marfisi to catch him. He was grateful that the pair decided not to tie him up. Given his condition, especially his broken wrist, any binding would have been painful. Steve figured that Marfisi and Bain considered his injury and being miles away from anywhere without shoes and proper outdoor clothing enough to keep him at bay.

Tender footed, he gingerly stepped out the tent, again thinking that if he was caught, he would simply say that he needed to relieve himself. He glanced over and saw the pair sleeping by the warm campfire. He nearly tripped over a large stone, but then realized the rock would come in handy. He stooped over to pick it up.

With his attention drawn to the black Datsun sedan, Steve carefully walked over to the driver's door and found the window cracked one quarter of the way down. While his arm wouldn't fit, he was able to twist the metal piping in such a way that he could hook the metal around the lock button. In no time, the door was unlocked.

He quietly opened the door, and then gave another quick check to his two captors. They had not stirred.

Slipping into the front seat, Steve kept the driver door open for fear of making an unwanted noise. There were no keys in the ignition, which was a disappointment, but not a surprise. He took a deep breath and stuck the tent stake into the keyhole. He then grabbed the stone he had picked up moments early. With a couple of swift hits, the stake was well into the ignition slot.

The sound of the stone hitting the steering column was enough to awaken Bain. "Hey!" he called out. Marfisi, too, began to stir.

No time was left, so Steve turned the metal stake as he would a key. The ignition turned over. The relieved young man put the car in gear, hit the gas and closed the front door.

Bain grabbed his gun and shot at the departing car. The first bullet hit the left taillight. The second bullet hit the rear window. Steve ducked out of reflex, but the bullet hit nowhere close to him.

After several seconds, he found the headlights and flipped them on. The dashboard lit up and he could see that the gas tank was half filled. _That should get me somewhere._

* * *

Rudy joined Mike in the room Haseejian had booked next to Smith. It was very late and there was little more to be done that evening.

"Mike, you've been at it non-stop for two days now. Go home." Rudy suggested.

"Rudy, I'm fine. I can just take a nap over here," Mike said as he pointed to the bed in the room.

"Go home, take a hot shower and relax for a bit. Come back here in the morning."

"Rudy," Mike began, thinking that he'd give anything for Steve to be able to go home, take a hot shower and relax.

But Rudy interrupted Mike's protest. "I'm already down one detective. I don't need to lose another to a heart attack, Mike. Go home and get some rest. That's an order!"

"Fine. I'll go check on Smith and let him know I'll be back in the morning." Mike conceded.

As he opened the door to the adjoining room, he realized that the room was empty. "Smith? Smith?" he called out.

Haseejian walked in and joined Mike.

"Where is he?" Norm asked.

"How the hell do I know?" Mike snapped. "Where would you be if your son was being held for ransom and you were told to stay by the phone?"

"Um, by the phone," Norm answered logically.

"Any man worth his salt would be waiting here. Not this guy, though. Where do you suppose he is?" Mike asked.

"Searching for some action would be my guess," Norm answered again.

"If I get my hands on him, I swear he'll find himself in the middle of next week. Let's go check the local bars. He can't be far," Mike ordered.

* * *

The black sedan raced through the dark country roads. Steve had no idea where he was or where he was going, but figured that he would keep driving until he saw civilization or an interstate. Having been knocked unconscious and transported to a wooded area two days earlier, he had no recognition of his surroundings. The situation felt surreal to him.

To get himself back to reality, he turned on the car radio thinking that if he heard music or found a station that was familiar, he'd feel better. Dialing through the stations, nothing familiar struck him until he stumbled upon "Roadhouse Blues". _That works, _the young man thought. _Not much better music to drive to than The Doors. _He began to relax for the first time in two days and decided to crank the volume.

"You're listening to KYMT, music for Yosemite and the surrounding Mono Lake area."

_Yosemite? You've got to be kidding me. _Steve knew he wasn't in San Francisco, but was shocked to hear he was on the other side of the state.

Not paying attention to his speed or his surroundings, Steve soon saw a flashing red light behind him. Putting himself in the place of the approaching officer, he anticipated things would not go well. The music was blaring and he was twenty miles over the speed limit to begin with. Add to that the fact he had a tent stake sticking out of the ignition, was barefoot and in pajamas and driving a car that didn't belong to him without a license.

_Oh, have I got some explaining to do._


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Sloan's Bar was one of three in the same block where Smith was staying. _No church on every corner in this part of town,_ Hassejian thought to himself as he entered the busy tavern with his boss, _but no shortage of booze and broads._

"Let's head toward the back," Mike ordered as the smell of whiskey and cheap perfurme permeated the air.

Walking to the back, Haseejian noticed the salt and pepper haired man speaking to Carol Dobson, an old acquaintance. Carol's eyes widened as she saw Norm approaching.

"Hey, sugar" she greeted the balding detective. She immediately backed away from her current companion.

Mike recognized Smith immediately and pulled him aside. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You need to be by that phone, not picking up some whore." He shot a quick glance over to Carol.

Carol nuzzled up to Norm. "You know, seeing this guy talking to Mike, he sure reminds me of someone - only this guy is much older."

"Yeah," Norm thought about responding but then silently conceded that Steve had enough to worry about without the undercover vice officer realizing that she nearly bagged Keller's father for solicitation. "He looks familiar; I just don't know from where."

Finishing their conversation, Mike wanted to get back to the hotel. "Say 'goodnight', Carol," he said as he led Smith away from the woman.

"Goodnight, Carol" she joked. "And goodnight, Norm," she added with a flirty wink. Norm smiled back.

Thinking they were heading to the front, Smith felt a tug to his elbow. "We're going out the back," Mike advised Smith. "I know a shortcut."

Norm raised his eyebrows as he knew that the shortcut would be more of a detour. He opted to instead stay a few steps back.

Once outside, Mike slammed Smith into the back wall of the bar. "If you leave that phone one more time, I'll make sure it's the last time you go anywhere. You do realize that you could have been busted for solicitation back there."

"What? I was just talking to the chick," Smith pleaded.

It had been a long and stressful day, and Mike had heard enough. He reared back his right arm and drove his fist into Clark Smith's jaw like a catapult.

Smith raised his arms, ostensibly to protect himself from another hit. He anticipated Mike's move incorrectly and received a punch in the gut as consequence for his error.

The wind knocked out of him, Smith bent over and had a hard time catching his breath. "Okay, okay," he pleaded, but then spitefully added, "Like I can do anything about this. Knock it off!"

One more slug hit Smith square in the face as he attempted to straighten. Blood flowed from his nose and lip.

"You've had this coming, Smith," Mike hissed.

"Okay, stop! I'm sorry I went out. I was just going stir crazy up there."

"You think I care about whether you have cabin fever when your own flesh and blood is being held captive? The reason we're all here is to get Steve back," Mike added as he grabbed the collar of Steve's father one more time. "I don't get you, Smith, what gives? I'd think you'd feel responsible for what's happened to your son."

"Is that it? You think I'm to blame? I was willing to work out a deal, but all they want is cash on the barrelhead. It's not my fault they aren't reasonable."

_Not a responsible bone in his body, _Norm thought as he watched Mike's fists form for a second time from the back door.

"You listen to me and you listen good. You've caused Steve enough trouble as it is. You are going back to your room and you will stay there until we send you to make the money drop."

"You got the money?" Smith said with a sense of relief, wiping the blood dripping from his mouth.

"You just do as we say." Mike grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. "Let's go!"

Hearing heavy footsteps in the hallway, Rudy stuck his head out the door of the rented room and caught a glimpse of the Smith's bruised and bloodied face.

"Mike, what the hell?" he whispered sharply to his lead detective.

"He tripped," Mike explained unconvincingly.

Rudy rolled his eyes. "Haseejian, you tend to Mr. Smith here. Mike, you come with me," the Captain said as he led Mike back to the room they had been using for surveillance.

Mike knew he was in trouble, but also knew that Rudy understood his anger with Smith. Still, he was not prepared for his superior's orders.

"You're off the case, Mike. You're too close. I'm sorry," Rudy announced uncomfortably as he ran his hand through his thinning white hair.

"What do you mean 'off the case'? I'm Steve's best chance of coming back."

"Mike, I know you care and you will do your best, but you're too close to the situation," Rudy read the look of horror on his man's face. "I'm taking over and I will keep you posted. But I need to keep you away from Smith before you two get into another fight and he bails out on us."

"You think he'd do that, don't you?" Mike asked quietly.

"I think the man has got some issues and I don't trust that he'll do the right thing by Steve. I don't understand it, Mike, but my observation is that he's just as dangerous as the goons from the casino."

An hour later, Mike was retired to his bedroom to catch some sleep. He stepped out of line tonight and he knew it. Rudy was right to take the case over, but _damn it, that bastard deserved everything I gave him._ Mike grimaced as he sat on the edge of the bed. He said another silent prayer for his partner. It was about the hundredth time he prayed in the past two days.

He turned off the bedside lamp and lay down. It took several minutes of restless tossing and turning before fatigue took over, and Mike fell asleep.

"You get one call, kid," Deputy Perkins instructed as Steve took a seat next to the officer's desk.

Daylight was breaking through. After his initial arrest, Perkins drove Steve to the nearest medical center. The ER staff made quick work of x-raying, diagnosing and casting his broken wrist. They also treated the bruising on his face and determined that while his nose was swollen, it was not broken. _Lucky me,_ Steve thought to himself at the time.

While he knew deep down that Mike and the SFPD would convince the Mono Lake lawmen to drop the charges, he still felt uneasy about his predicament. The prisoner grey colors he now wore made him feel no better.

"You hear me, kid? It's time to make your call." Perkins began thumbing through papers in his inbox.

Checking the clock on the wall, he figured that while six am was an early time to call anyone, it wasn't unheard of. Besides, he knew his safety was Mike's chief concern and anyone he spoke to back home would be elated he called. Still, it was with some trepidation that he began dialing the number. After two rings, a craggy voice on the other end of the line answered.

"Stone," Mike was momentarily disoriented from his uneasy slumber.

"Mike, it's me," came the quiet response.

A cold splash of water could not have done more to jolt Mike awake. "Buddy boy, where are you? Are you still with those men?"

"No, I got away. I'm okay. I'm just…well, I'm in jail. Mike, can you talk to the deputy here?"

"Sure, of course," Mike couldn't hide the relief in his voice. "Whatever you need, Buddy boy."

Steve handed the phone over to Deputy Perkins who had only then noticed the APB on Steve that sat in his inbox.


	9. Chapter 8

a/n: Thanks for the continued support and reviews for this story. I very much appreciate it! And I hope you all are taking the opportunity to read "Journey of Fear", the new round robin piece. While I was tempted to wait to update this solo piece until "JoF" is up, I wanted to get one more chapter posted before I take a short break.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

While only a two hundred and thirty mile straight line drive across the state, the road to Mono Lake seemed to pass through enough farming communities and stop signs for a thousand mile trip. What could have taken three or four hours on an interstate took Mike nearly six thanks to the two lane rural road passing through the heart of Yosemite and the traffic jam he encountered crossing the Bay Bridge. Mike's patience grew thin as he floored the city-issued brown Ford Galaxy to the Mono County Sheriff's office.

* * *

Reflecting on the early morning call and what information the deputy provided, Mike understood his partner was in custody for grand theft auto and a number of other driving offenses, including speeding, driving without a taillight, and disturbing the peace. He couldn't help but smirk at the lesser charges. It was explained that the tent stake in the ignition sealed his fate as a car thief, although the deputy suspected extenuating circumstances after reading the APB.

"Flagrant necessity!" Rudy barked as Mike explained the situation to him before he left to retrieve his partner. The police captain had returned to his office after spending the night babysitting Clark Smith.

"I know, Rudy. Despite it all, the deputy seems reasonable. He made the arrest before he saw the APB on Steve. But since Steve's so-called crimes were committed after the APB was issued, I need to get over there and straighten things out."

"Crimes? He was just trying to find safety. Do you think you'll have any problems?"

"No, they just need to have someone 'official' from the police department here sign off on what happened to him. Once I do that, he'll be free to go."

"Harumph," Rudy responded. "Well, you go ahead and get over there. We still have the money drop to do at noon today and then we'll make an arrest." Rudy tapped his fingers while absorbing the latest developments. "Say, where were the casino goons holding Steve?"

"Somewhere in Yosemite. Steve looked at the mileage on the car when he escaped and has a good idea where he was being held," Mike began.

"Figures," the Captain interrupted as he considered how resourceful Steve could be.

"When the deputy pulled him over, he calculated that he had traveled about seventeen miles. The deputy was going back to see if they could find the two men. Steve was able to give a good description, of course." Mike couldn't hide a small amount of pride in Steve's actions under pressure.

"Now that Steve is no longer a hostage, what's stopping the kidnappers from taking off?" Rudy asked as he tried to assess how Steve's escape figured into the noon meeting.

"I figure they have nothing to lose and that's even if the contact whose been calling Steve's father is aware that he's escaped," Mike surmised.

"What do you mean?"

"You see, it's clear that there were a couple of guys in Yosemite holding on to Steve. But then there's got to be a local contact here in the city. After all, they knew Smith's every move, especially early on. I would be surprised if the local guy here has no clue that their hostage is gone. Those two goons are stuck in the wilderness. With Steve taking their car and then with no lights, they probably had to wait until sun-up to walk any distance."

"Sun-up?" Rudy smirked. "You've been watching too many westerns."

"All right, sunrise. Happy?"

"Just go get your partner and bring him home." Rudy chuckled as he envisioned Steve's homecoming. "When he comes back, I'm sure that he'll be thrilled to be a part of a father-son reunion."

Mike thought for a moment. "You mean Smith. Yeah, I wouldn't want to be that guy right now. You should have heard Steve when I talked to him yesterday. He wasn't hurting or scared. He was simply mad as hell."

"Can't say as I blame him. You know, I wasn't happy to see Smith beat up like he was, but I understand why you did it. Really, Mike, after I sent you home, I decided to stay put at the hotel and keep an eye on the guy. The man has no conscience or any idea why he's to blame for this."

"Glad you figured that out, Rudy."

* * *

Continuing down the road, Mike thoughts returned to the present after recalling the conversation with his boss. By the time he saw Rudy and then stopped to get some clothes for Steve, it was after 7 am before he hit the Bay Bridge. Taking nearly a half hour to cross, Mike was finally happy to put the pedal down as he made his way across the state.

It was well after 1pm when Mike reached the Sheriff's office. As he walked in, he was greeted by a county police officer.

"Are you Lieutenant Stone?" the young man asked.

"Yes," Mike replied.

"We've been waiting for you, sir," the officer said as he extended his hand. "I'm Pete Miller. It's an honor to meet a homicide detective from the city, sir."

Mike smiled as he firmly shook the young man's hand. "Pleased to me you, too. Officer Miller, I believe you are holding a person of interest for me," Mike said teasingly.

"Yes, sir. Deputy Perkins just came back from Yosemite. He wanted to meet you here so you can get through the paperwork as quickly as possible."

Mike nodded. "How's Steve doing?"

"Okay, I guess. He was banged up some and has a broken wrist, so we got that fixed early this morning at the medical center. He was in pretty good spirits, but then he got a phone call a short time ago. He was plenty angry by the time he hung up and he's been quiet since."

Mike made a mental note about the call, wondering what it was about, but then lost his train of thought as Deputy Perkins appeared. The Mono Lake officer quickly introduced himself and the pair dispensed of the paperwork that represented Steve's freedom without hesitation.

"Is there anything else you need from me?" Mike asked politely after they finished.

"No, sir," Perkins responded. "Let's go back to the holding cell and get him out of here."

"I have some clothes in this bag," Mike began as he grabbed the duffle bag he'd brought in earlier.

"There's a place for him to change. We just fed him lunch, so he should be all set."

Mike followed Perkins down a short hallway to the first of two holding cells. Sitting on the cot with his knees tucked under his chin, Steve looked like a young man lost and facing a life behind bars.

"Hey," Mike said quietly to grab the younger man's attention. He caught more than a glimpse of his partner in jailbird grey. "You're getting sprung, Buddy boy."

Deputy Perkins unlocked the door as Steve slowly rose. He gave Mike only a slight smile. "Terrific. Got some clothes for me?"

"That I have," Mike said as he handed the duffle bag to his partner. While he was relieved to see the young man alive, he was worried by the haggard expression on his face. "Let me look at you for a second."

Steve stared back, rather embarrassed. "I'm fine," was all he could thing to say.

"How's the wrist?" Mike asked as he instinctively grabbed the cast for further examination.

"It's fine," Steve said abruptly. Mike looked at him dubiously as the young man modified his answer. "Okay, it hurts a little, but I'll live."

"You got a couple nice shiners going." Mike winced as he saw the darkness under Steve's eyes.

"Yeah, but my nose is not broken, despite what it looks like." Steve's tone was nasily but still very matter-of-fact.

"Go get changed," Mike ordered as he pointed to the men's restroom down the hall. He gazed over to the lunch plate that had been provided to Steve. He hadn't touched his food.

* * *

Steve rejoined him wearing a comfortable sweatshirt and jeans. Mike also remembered to bring shoes, which was a welcome change over the last two days.

"Say, you didn't eat anything," Mike stated obviously.

"I hate bologna. That's what the kidnappers fed me and that's what they fed me here. I can't take any more of it."

Mike couldn't read the mood of his partner, but understood why as the realization of the emotional drama Steve went through entered his mind. "Come on, let's get out of here and let me buy you something besides bologna."

"Works for me," Steve agreed in a flippant tone.

"Are we ready to go, Deputy?" Mike asked.

"All clear. And I heard the complaint about the food loud and clear. But you know, we don't usually get innocent people in our cells, so you have to consider the circumstance," Perkins teased. "There's a good little diner on the way out of town. Stop there and you'll have some of the best home cooking you can imagine."

"Sounds like a plan. Come on, Buddy boy. And thanks, Deputy. This is a happy day."

Perkins smiled back at the senior detective.

* * *

The lunch hour had past at Betty's Diner, so when Steve and Mike entered, they had the restaurant to themselves. As they settled into a comfortable booth, Mike perused the menu. "Say, there are a lot of good choices here." The senior detective knew he was overcompensating by being too cheerful. It was in stark contrast with the feeling of walking on egg shells around his partner.

"Yeah," Steve agreed as he read through the menu.

"I'm going to get some meat loaf. That'll stick to your ribs. You should get something like that."

"I don't want to go too heavy, Mike. I haven't had much in the last couple of days. Maybe a chicken sandwich or something."

"Get a milkshake. You look like you've dropped ten pounds."

"I'm sure I didn't lose that much, but a shake sounds good," Steve agreed pleasantly.

"Waitress, meatloaf with all the sides for me," Mike called out. "A chicken sandwich with fries…"

"A salad," Steve interrupted.

"A salad, and a vanilla shake for the boy here."

Steve rolled his eyes as he heard 'boy'. He looked over to Mike with annoyance, but then quickly changed his tune when he thought of the man who travelled far to bring him home. _He didn't have to do all of this._

As the door of the diner opened, Steve's eyes grew large. Mike noticed the change in his expression.

"What?" Mike asked in a low voice while feeling the hair stand on the back of his neck.

"The two guys," Steve whispered. "It's them."

Mike turned around for a quick glimpse of the men. He swallowed back his anger and began to assess his next move.

At that moment, Marfisi and Bain recognized the young man. "You!" Marfisi yelled. And simultaneously, Marfisi and Bain drew their weapons.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Marfisi pointed his gun alternately between Mike and Steve. He was just as shocked to see his former hostage as Keller was to see them. Bain, still reeling from Steve outsmarting him while he was supposed to be guarding him, angrily dragged the younger man by the elbow from the booth. With a casted wrist on his free arm, Steve could do little to resist.

Mike sized up the assailants, wondering how they ended up in the same diner so many miles from where Steve was found. At the moment, it didn't matter. All he knew was that he needed to save his partner from being taken again. Mike inconspicuously felt the gun occupying his holster. He looked to the back to the kitchen, hoping that their waitress would stay safe out of the main dining area.

"Nice try escaping, kid. The boss isn't going to be so happy to see what you did to the rental car. Knowing Smith, I guess we shouldn't be surprised," Marfisi glowered as Bain jabbed a gun into Steve's temple. "You're coming with us."

"But it's all over," Steve declared calmly. "The money drop already happened."

"How do you know?" Marfisi asked suspiciously.

"My old man called the police station here in Mono Lake afterward."

"How'd he know where you were?"

"I was allowed one call after I got busted and called a friend," Steve said as he shot a quick glance to Mike.

Marfisi raised his eyebrow to which Steve responded. "Yeah, I got arrested. Seems as though driving a car without a taillight and a rear window is frowned upon in this area."

"You expect me to believe you?"

"Well, without a taillight, how can someone tell when I'm trying to slow down?" he deadpanned.

"That's not what I meant, smart ass." Marfisi rammed his fist into Steve's gut. Bain maintained hold of the pistol.

Mike eyes grew wide in surprise at Steve's impertinence. His partner hadn't been acting right since he was released from police custody, and Mike knew this attitude may prove harmful if he wasn't careful.

"You know, if I were you two," Steve continued as he straightened himself up, "I wouldn't waste your time with me. The cops here have your full description. I'd get the hell out of Dodge and go somewhere else."

"Well, you're not us. We're heading back to Vegas, and you are coming along. Our instructions were to hang on to you until directed otherwise. I don't feel like we can say we've accomplished our objective."

Marfisi turned to Mike, "Hey old man, is that your Ford tank out there? You wouldn't mind if we borrowed it, now would you?" He pushed the gun closer to Mike's face. The senior detective slowly shook his head. "I didn't think you would."

Mike looked at Steve, and then placed a hand on his left side where his gun was. Without any doubt in his mind, he silently conveyed the message that he would not allow his partner to be abducted a second time. Steve gave a slight nod.

"The keys!" Marfisi demanded.

"They're in my pocket," Mike said as he rose from the booth. He twisted his side around only enough to block the view of his pistol from the two assailants. "Here they are," Mike said as he instead grabbed his gun and drew.

At that instance, Steve lifted up his casted wrist and deflected Bain's gun away from his head. The plaster cast proved painful to Bain's hand and the gun fell and slid partway across the room under another dining table.

Now a party to an apparent stand-off between Marfisi and himself, Mike stood stock still while Marfisi did the same. In the meantime, both Steve and Bain scrambled for Bain's free gun. Steve nearly reached it first, but Bain tackled him and delivered a blow to the young man's left jaw, reawakening the injury he had received from the initial abduction.

Instead of admitting defeat, Steve became angry, put his opponent in a scissor hold and opted for a left hook to right side of Bain's face. The punch made his cast reverberate, but adrenalin saved him from feeling the damage he had just done. Steve untangled his legs, kicked Bain away, turned and once again made a grab for the gun.

Bain watched for only a split second and then grabbed a dinner knife from a nearby table.

"Steve! Watch out!" Mike yelled. He kept his composure while maintaining a fix on Marfisi. The last thing he needed was Marfisi to gain the upper hand.

Steve turned around and for the third time in a few seconds, hit Bain with his casted wrist. This punch landed in Bain's mouth, knocking several teeth loose and bloodying his lip. He fell and Steve took the opportunity to kick the man in the side. Steve made a final and successful play for the gun.

Marfisi, out of reflex, swung his gun toward Steve. By Marfisi breaking from Mike's stare, the older detective knew he had an opportunity. He struck Marfisi's arm with his own weapon, knocking the gun from his hand.

"All right, enough!" Mike bellowed, reaffirming his authority. "You, in the kitchen, call the police."

"Already did," came the female voice. And as the waitress declared her actions, Deputy Perkins and another officer entered the diner.

"Police, freeze!"

_Two hours later…_

"You look exhausted," Deputy Perkins declared as he handed Steve a cup of coffee. "And you look like you took quite a beating. Are you sure we shouldn't be taking you back to the hospital?"

Since the arrest of Marfisi and Bain, both Stone and Keller made their statements. Mike wanted to be thorough enough not to cause either man a need to return to Mono Lake anytime soon. He also hoped that their statements would mean that both kidnappers would be put away for several years to come.

"I'll live," Steve responded quietly as he shuffled paperwork he had finished several minutes earlier. "Are we about done? I'd like to get back to San Francisco if we could."

"The Sheriff is in with your partner and they are swapping war stories right now. I'll see if I can drop a subtle hint."

"Sometimes subtle hints don't work with Mike. Do you have a bullhorn handy?" Steve joked without smiling. He was indeed exhausted and even more so, he was bothered.

Steve watched the Deputy go into the Sheriff's office. He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath and reflected on the earlier conversation he'd had with his father while he was waiting on Mike get down to Mono Lake…

The officer had told Steve that he had a call and led him to a desk which was just outside the holding cell area.

"_You know, kiddo, it's going to be all right,"_ Clark had declared. _"I made the drop with money. The cops had my back and we caught Petit John, the bastard. He's going to sing like a canary and Mr. Bennett of Little Monaco is going down."_

"_It's all over then?"_

"_It sure is. And Old Man Olsen…"_

"_That's Captain Olsen," _Steve corrected.

"_Yeah, Old Man Olsen and the big cop Norm led the charge. Good guys you know there, kiddo."_

"_They are good men. Glad you can recognize that,"_ Steve replied coolly.

"_Anyway, I'm going to be taking off soon. That Lieutenant you work for is on his way down to bail your ass out of jail. What did you do to get tossed in the slammer anyway?"_

"_Only escaping from the hostage situation I endured, thanks to you. Anyway, it's just a misunderstanding. They need Mike to affirm my statement and once they do, I'll be out."_

"_I'm sure you will," _ Clark commented as he sought to change the subject. "_Say Steve, I want you to think about something. I'm going to blow this pop stand and I want you to join me."_

Steve was confused by his father's statement. _"What? Where are you going?"_

"_Well, I've been in Mexico for a bit and I like it there. There's something about the culture. They're good to the old man here. I'm thinking if it's that good in Mexico, Brazil has got to be a paradise for someone like me. Think of the money and opportunity there."_

"_Brazil?"_

"_Just think about it. With your good looks and my brains, we'll have all the money, chicks and booze we could possibly want. It's about time you and I got to know one another better. What do you say?"_

"_I'm touched," _Steve managed to say while keeping the noticeable sarcasm to a minimum. _"But no. I have a life here and San Francisco is home now."_

"_You think you have a life here, but let me tell you something, kiddo. You won't be there much longer. You might as well know that now, son."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I mean, and it's not fair to you – or to me for that matter – but what happened to you, your cop buddies don't think it's in keeping with the kind of image they need their cops to have."_

"_What are you saying? That I'm not fit because of something you did?"_

"_Thems the breaks, kid. It's not fair, but I got the sense they are going to let you go. It was something about being a drain on manpower and wondering what other situations could arise with you."_

"_What? That's utterly ridiculous. I've had a good record."_

"_Exemplary, but they're afraid that the apple hasn't fallen too far from the tree with you and me." _  
Clark finished to silence. He waited a quick moment before he continued. _"Kiddo, come on. It will be all right. Let the old man take care you. It's about time we got together. Why don't you give them the jump and come down to Brazil with me?"_

With that question, Steve spoke forcefully into the phone. _"No way in hell."_ He slammed the phone back on the receiver and signaled for the officer to take him back to his holding cell.

Steve was rocked back to reality by Mike's booming voice. While he wished this situation never happened to Steve, he was happy that Steve was okay and that perhaps in time could put this situation behind him.

"Hey Buddy boy, you ready to go, huh?"

"Yeah, I've been ready for a bit."

The pair bid their final goodbyes to Deputy Perkins and the staff.

"Well then, let's hit the road," Mike said as he clapped his hands. "I talked to Rudy and he wants to see us when we get back."

Steve nodded his head as he rose from the chair and followed Mike out the door. He couldn't help but wonder what was in store for his near future or if there was any truth to Clark's statements.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

The echo of the phone slamming in his ear resonated with Clark Smith for several seconds. He knew he had no real shot of Steve coming back into his life. Deep down, he wasn't even sure it was what he wanted. After all, he had become a drifter; the thought of establishing roots almost made him feel trapped. Still, there were times when Smith longed to have a relationship with his son, such that he was capable.

It was that longing that got them both in the fix they were in. While he hadn't seen his son in several years, Clark Smith did brag about him on occasion. He knew that he had gone to college, got his degree in criminology and then took on a prestigious assignment with the San Francisco police department. There were times in his lonely existence that he'd talk about his son, his surviving offspring, to anyone who would listen. Sometimes it was a waitress at a diner or a bartender; other times he would strike a conversation with people around poker table or the employees at Little Monaco.

"_No way in hell!" _Would those be the last words he would hear his son say? Should Smith try again before leaving California for good? It had been a stressful last few days for him, no matter what Steve's coworkers thought. He had tried, but going back and trying again was not something he was prone to do.

Smith reached into his jacket pocket and jingled the keys he'd taken from Steve's apartment on the first day. It was time to hit the road anyway. He had made his statement to police and they were through with him. He gathered his belongings in the small suitcase he'd brought and was ready to leave the city.

"_Might as well go in style," _Smith mused as he unlocked the 1965 model Porsche. "_C'est la vie, kiddo. I won't be bothering you again."_

* * *

Mike and Steve rode in silence after leaving Mono Lake. It would be a long ride if the senior detective didn't do something to break the ice. _The best way is the direct way,_ Mike thought to himself.

"So, I gather your father called you at the station. At least, that's what you said at the diner to those two clowns." Mike was fishing, but did so with a smile on his face.

Steve glanced over and nodded his head. "Yeah, he called. Told me about the arrest of Petit John, the ringleader who works for the casino in Vegas. He said no one got hurt."

"Well, that's good, at least," Mike agreed. "I talked to the Captain after we caught Bain and Marfisi. He said it went off like clockwork. We had given your dad a bag with fifty grand and he made the drop at the warehouse, just like he was instructed. Knowing you were safe, the Captain knew he could move in quickly without risking you. The arrest was made without any gunplay. We got the money back and Jones is in jail."

"Did they count it?"

"What?"

"Did they count the money when they got it back?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Nevermind." Steve gently wrapped his right hand around the cast. The pain in his wrist was returning. He noticed his fingers were swelling, and attempted to flex them. "I just want to get home," he mumbled under his breath.

"Home? We'll get there in a few hours. But you're going to stay with me for a night or two, Buddy boy." Mike didn't really want to go down this path of conversation, but he knew he needed to tell Steve what had happened at his apartment.

"Why? I'm okay."

"Well, Norm is repainting your bedroom."

"What?! Why?"

"It was a bit of a mess, so let's just leave it at that."

"What happened? I'm fairly neat, you know."

Mike chuckled. "It's not that. Jones, Marfisi and Bain left a mess."

"Terrific," Steve sighed. "I didn't know. What did they do? Does my landlord know?"

"They left some graffiti on the wall. Really, a couple of coats of paint and no one will know. We're getting you new bedding too."

"Now what?"

Mike was hesitant, but knew he had to continue. "Well, there's was blood all over. Enough that we were worried we wouldn't find you alive at first. But as they say, 'a little blood goes a long way.'"

Steve went silent. He knew he had been bleeding from his arm and face. The bleeding from his arm was from a rather deep spot, so he figured that they must have hit a vein or artery. It made more sense now.

Seeking to change the subject, Mike asked, "What else did your dad have to say?" He darted a look over to his partner.

Still a little speechless, Steve forced himself to respond. "Um, not too much. He had high praise for all of you, though."

Mike was surprised at that, but he wondered more about whether Smith had mentioned their fight and why Olsen had pulled him off the case. "Was that all?"

"You mean…" Steve couldn't bring himself to say what he thought Mike was getting at. _You mean how it was determined I'm too much of a risk because of him and that I'm about to lose my job?_ "Yeah, he told me."

Assuming that Steve referred to Mike hitting his father, Mike apologized. "I'm sorry, Buddy boy. Believe me when I tell you that I didn't like being a part of that."

"I understand. Granted, I'm disappointed."

Mike was ashamed and a little surprised that Steve was disappointed. He had hoped after working for several months together that Steve would understand Mike's feelings a bit better and figure that any conflict between Smith and him had with Steve's best interest at heart.

As the pain medication wore off fully, the throbbing in his wrist became apparent. Realizing that he probably broke the wrist again in the altercation at the diner, he still didn't want to show Mike that he was hurting. For the moment, he could keep the pain at bay, but he wasn't sure he could make it all the way back to San Francisco. He began fidgeting in his seat.

Minutes passed and Steve said very little. "You okay?" Mike asked.

"Yeah." He held onto this casted arm. "Look, I'm sorry too. But, please understand, I'm not my old man."

"We all recognize that, Steve. But no offense: he's one of the most exasperating people I've ever met."

Steve nodded his head, but then felt a need to defend his father. "My grandfather would tell you that he wasn't always that way. It was only after he got back from the war that he started acting very careless. It's like he developed a deathwish over there. Not only did he no longer want any part of the life he knew before, but he became reckless. It was like he didn't care about anything. He broke my mother's heart with that."

"What caused that? Was he injured during the war?"

"Yeah," Steve said as his voice cracked with the pain. "He received a Purple Heart from his time in the Pacific Theater. He was on one of the Solomon Islands where there was heavy fighting."

"Was he at Guadalcanal?"

"Rennell Island, actually. At any rate, there was a mortar explosion and he hit his head pretty hard. It was a fairly serious skull fracture, in addition to a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder. The problem was it took a bit for him to get medical attention, as you can imagine. He was discharged later that year, but he had changed."

"I'm sorry," Mike could think of nothing more to say.

Steve's breathing became more labored as the pain in his wrist was now unbearable.

Uncertain that Steve's condition was physical or emotional, Mike slowed the car and checked on his partner. "Hey, what's wrong with you?"

"How close are we to Modesto?"

"About twenty miles."

"Mike, can we go to the hospital there? It's my wrist."

Mike looked over to the cast and saw very swollen and darkening fingers dangling from the end. "Damn it, Steve, why didn't you say something earlier?"

* * *

Mike escorted his partner into the ER treatment room where an attendant made quick work of removing his cast. Mike winced as he saw the swelling and discoloration. Clearly, Steve's wrist was broken and no longer properly set.

"We'll need to x-ray it, but no one should be surprised if it turns out he needs a plate or pins. That will be for the doctor to decide." The attendant walked out of the treatment room and left the partners alone.

Mike's face was etched with concern and fatigue. He felt sorry that Steve would endure more pain. He felt helpless and thus began to think of things he should do. "I'm going to call Rudy and let him know what happened. Since we're here in Modesto, is there anyone you want me to contact?"

"Family? No, my grandfather's out of the country. No one else is here." Steve shuddered in the chilly examining room.

"Okay. I'll be just a few minutes. You warm enough?"

"I'm fine," Steve snapped automatically.

"Yeah, right. That's what you said earlier," Mike said as squeezed Steve's shoulder and shook his head. "I'll see you in a bit."

Mike walked down the corridor and found a phone where he quickly got through to Captain Olsen.

"Rudy, I just wanted you to know that we needed to stop off and have Steve's arm looked at again. We'll be in later than expected. There's a chance we may not be back until tomorrow."

"Hmmph…" came Olsen's normal grouchy response. "Well, don't stay too long. I've got two of my best men in the middle of nowhere and I need you back soon," Rudy ordered. He then took a softer tone. "Mike, there's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" A sense of dread fell over the detective.

"The fifty thousand that we gave Smith to drop. Only forty-five of it made it back."

Mike silently remembered Steve's remark about counting the money. He decided to stay mum.

"And there's something else," Rudy continued.

"I'm afraid to know," Mike answered.

"Steve's car was stolen. Haseejian went over to paint his apartment and saw that the Porsche was gone."


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Rudy allowed Mike to gather his thoughts for a moment. Steve had such promise within the department. He was young, smart and energetic. Brass had noticed him early and pegged him as management material. Neither man wanted Steve to suffer any career setbacks and because of this, Rudy pressed on. He knew Steve's only chance would be for someone to find his father and recovery the stolen money.

"I'm sorry, Mike. You know how this looks. The Mayor is going to have my head on a platter if we don't get that money back." Captain Olsen's words came through loud and clear as Mike slouched against the pay phone stall in the hospital lobby.

Mike knew what was coming. If Smith stole the money the police used for the drop, even a small portion of it, that simply didn't bode well for Steve's future. The police department had no place for someone whose family could put them in such a compromising position. It wasn't fair, but it was certainly understandable.

"Do you have an APB out on Smith? What about Steve's car?" Mike asked quietly.

"There's an APB out on one Charlie Stakowski and his aliases, plus Steve's Porsche, statewide. So far no leads," Rudy responded. "I have to tell you, Mike, he left the station over a couple of hours ago – he could be anywhere."

Mike remembered the conversation with Steve in the car before they drove to the hospital in Modesto. "Steve talked to him this morning. He apparently called the police station before I got there. The deputy said he was rattled after the call."

"Do you think he knows something?" Rudy asked innocently.

"Of course not!" Mike snapped.

Rudy was not surprised at the sharp response, but knew he clarify his question. "Now before you get all defensive about your boy, I'm just asking whether or not Steve remembers if he said anything that might have been a clue to where was headed."

Mike sighed. "I'm sorry, Rudy. You're right. Let me see what I can find out. I'll call you later."

The senior detective hung up the phone and walked deliberately through the corridor to Steve's treatment room. Along the way he wondered how he was going to confront Steve about his father without sending the young man over the edge.

* * *

Charlie Stakowski knew where he was headed. He had what few possessions he owned in a suitcase in the trunk of the Porsche and a stack of cash in the glove compartment. Five thousand dollars in Latin America would take him far. Mentally, he had it mapped out. He'd get out of California sooner rather than later, by cutting east. But rather than going northeast through Sacramento and Reno, he'd cut down through Bakersfield and past Edwards Air Force Base. That would take him into Arizona. If he were lucky he'd cross the Mexican border the next day.

After that, the trip would be easy. He could take his time traveling through Mexico, then through Central America and then eventually make his way to the East Coast of Brazil. It would take weeks, but as inexpensive as it was down south, he could take his time and still arrive in Rio de Janeiro with most of what he'd taken.

He smiled slightly as he drove South on Hwy 5. Pushing the accelerator under his foot, he felt a sense of freedom and possibility for a new beginning. It gave him new hope.

_A new life,_ he thought to himself. _And I'll establish a new name and create my own past. Maybe that's what I need_, Stakowski said to himself. _This will give me another chance to start over._

But then he began to reflect on the chances he'd already had to this point. _I've had some chances. More than many men ever get in a lifetime. _

Stakowski looked back on his childhood – a son of a multi-generational farm family in central California who immigrated to the region over a hundred years ago. He rebuffed farm life, especially after seeing the world during the War. The South Pacific with its deep blue waters held mixed feelings for him. While the injuries changed his life forever, the South Pacific was where he learned to see the world differently. Despite trying, he could never go back to the simple life he knew.

But then that's where Steve's mother came into the picture. Before the war, she worked in an implement shop and Charlie would often come in to pick up parts or to have some sort of service done on his father's farm equipment. After several weeks, Charlie finally asked her out for dinner and not long after that they fell in love.

Within a year, they were married. It was 1942 and she had no idea that she was having a child until after he shipped out. She bore the man a very lovely girl with ginger hair. Her days waiting for him were spent preparing a proper home for when the family would be reunited. She prayed every day for his safe return and cherished every moment she had with their daughter. In some ways, it was her happiest time.

After he returned from the service, he couldn't bear the thought of going back to the family farm and his old life. He had wanderlust. There were images in his mind he wanted to pursue and injuries to his body and soul that needed to heal. Still to his credit, Private Charlie Stakowski returned to Modesto and tried to be the husband and father that Gwyneth and Charlotte deserved for most of the next four years.

When the family expanded, things changed. Despite being the son Stakowski could be proud of, another baby simply proved to be too much. One random night, the farmer left his family to run an errand. He never came home. His wife was so distraught over their separation that she became very distracted. Tragically, while her mind was on other things, she and her daughter were killed in a traffic accident. Steve, who was only three at the time, was in the back seat and survived. He was taken in by her parents and raised as their own.

Charlie Stakowski saw the entire situation as his biggest failure and regret. Deep down, he truly loved his wife, but the guilt of her death only pushed him further down the spiral.

Driving down the highway, he shook himself back to the present. Reasoning that he was leaving the country for good, something urged him to say 'good-bye' one last time to his wife and daughter. It was closure that he needed to have. Having past the interchange that led to Modesto, Smith turned back up to Hwy 5 to make the cutover.

* * *

Mike walked into the treatment room and found a nurse taking his partner's vital signs.

"How is he?" he asked as he saw Steve's left arm covered in bags of ice. The pain that was earlier etched on his face was much less and he appeared to be drifting asleep.

"We're getting the swelling down by packing his arm in ice. We've also given him something for the pain. It's done a lot to relax him."

Mike nodded as he noticed that Steve's eyes were nearly shut. He correctly figured that this might be the most relaxed the young man had been for days. He hated the idea of disrupting his peace, but knew that he needed to get some answers on Stakowski's whereabouts.

"Steve?" Mike called out. The nurse make a quick departure as Mike began speaking. "Steve, wake up."

"Hmm?" There wasn't more he was able to say. He was lost somewhere between a dream and reality.

"Steve, I need to ask you something," Mike pressed as he moved closer to the exam table.

No reply came, so Mike shook Steve's uninjured arm until he watched a dazed expression come over his face. "Listen to me, Steve. When you talked to your dad this morning, did he mention what he was going to do after the arrests were made?"

Steve struggled to awaken himself. "What?"

"We need to find out where your dad is. There are a few questions we still need to ask him." Mike was choosing his words very carefully.

Steve was quiet for a moment and then became more alert as the realization struck him that his father had done something wrong. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," Mike lied. "He took off before the boys back home were finished."

Wanting to believe that was all it was, Steve again closed his eyes. His attention span was short and he thought little more of Mike's comment.

Mike saw what had happened and pressed for an answer. "Steve, did he say where he was going now that everything was over?"

Steve woke again. A frown fell over his face as he remembered, "He said he was going to Brazil. He wanted to start over again."

"Brazil?! That's a long way for a man to go. Was he leaving today?"

"Yes."

"He wasn't even going to say good-bye to you?" Mike was instantly enraged and his voice became louder by the second. "He wasn't concerned about how you got back home or whether you were even well?"

"He wanted me to come with him. He said it'd be good for us to get to know one another." Steve relayed this information without a trace of emotion.

Mike sat in silence and for reasons he did not understand, felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. For Steve to have accomplished what he had to this point only to hitch his wagon onto such a loose cannon was something Mike didn't want to consider. "What did you tell him?"

"I said, 'no'. I have my life here and my job. There's nothing that could possibly get me to go with him."

Mike looked away as he realized his partner's life could change for the worse if they didn't find his father and locate the money. Even then, it wasn't a sure bet that Steve would have the opportunity to pursue the life and career he sought.

Mike sighed as he wondered about his next steps. "You take it easy. I need to make a few calls. I'll be back."


End file.
